


Snake Dance

by KingKarate



Series: Floorshow [1]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Breeding, Dubious Consent, F/M, Impact Play, Multi, No Beta, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingKarate/pseuds/KingKarate
Summary: Title is from the song Snake Dance by The March Violets. Just an Underground Fighter AU one shot based loosely off some of the concepts in Shootfighter (1993), of course translated right back onto post-college Johnny Lawrence and his former sensei.
Relationships: John Kreese/You, Johnny Lawrence/John Kreese/You, Johnny Lawrence/Original Character(s), Johnny Lawrence/You
Series: Floorshow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016937
Comments: 22
Kudos: 25





	Snake Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capricethebrat (clownyprincess)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clownyprincess/gifts).



> For capricethebrat, my partner in problematica.

**Los Angeles.** **October 1993.**

Sometimes, just for fun, you’d hang around the underground fighting scene, even after the ex who had introduced you to it had moved away to greener pastures after graduation. Something about these clubs, the smell of sweat and testosterone and cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, kept bringing you back, even though you were supposed to be settling down with your 9-to-5 job and the cute doctor who your mom insisted was trying to court you.

Sometimes, you’d hang around by the side of the ring, hoping one of the fighters, high on adrenaline and God only knows what else, might notice you and take an interest, drag you back into the locker room and fuck your brains out on the disgusting tile.

And _sometimes_ , if you wore a particularly revealing outfit, one of them might look at you appreciatively on their way out of the ring. The one fighter whose eye you always really wanted to catch, never did, always too absorbed in getting out of the ring and away from the screaming spectators.

It was hard not to have favourites when the scene chewed up and spat out so many, so fast. The pay was good, you knew, but the fights were brutal and uncompromising. The guys who did make it back regularly, if not weekly, were tough beyond belief. This one, Lawrence, first or last name you didn’t know, was there most of the time you were, and to add insult to injury, he was beautiful too, and hardly a visible injury on him aside from a couple of scars and a long-healed break to his nose that had set pretty well.

You were pressed against the mesh dividing the ring from the crowd as the announcer called his name, and your heart beat fast in anticipation of the moment he would walk in, stalk panther-like into position, his blonde hair glowing like a halo under the harsh lighting. You supposed Lawrence was a year or two older than you, not quite fresh out of college, at least. It was so easy to imagine his body, all firm, chiselled muscle glistening with sweat, pressed hard against your own.

A hand tapped your shoulder, pulling you back from your fantasy. You looked to your left to see who it belonged to.

“Mr. Kreese wants you in his office.” The words came from a greasy-looking man in a surprisingly sharp suit, a little too close in your personal space. “You don’t want to disappoint him.”

You tried to think of where you had heard that name before. You _thought_ it belonged to the guy who organised some of these events, an intimidating older man in his late 40s who seemed to have perpetual stubble whenever you’d seen him across a room. Pissing him off had the potential to make coming here difficult, so you followed when beckoned, through the crowd and then through a door at the back of the room, down the quiet concrete hallway. The glare of the fluorescent lighting hurt your eyes as you were led further away from the main room, eventually reaching the door to an office. Kreese’s office, you supposed. A quick knock from the man, and he turned to walk away, leaving you waiting in front of the closed door.

It opened, and Kreese stood on the other side, a small smile on his lips, gesturing for you to enter.

The man wasn’t unattractive, you supposed, but he definitely had a menacing air about him that was even more overwhelming now you were alone with him, and in such close proximity. Your heart rate spiked as you stepped past him, barely any space between your bodies, to enter the room.

“I have a proposition.” He began, closing the door to the hall and moving to sit on his desk in front of you. “I’ve seen you here, several times now. You seem to have an eye for one of my fighters.”

You shrugged, not caring to give away too much. You never really spoke to any of them, it wasn’t like you were personally involved with anyone, and whatever he thought he could leverage here would probably amount to nothing.

“Have you ever considered mixing pleasure with pain?” He asked, his gravelly voice washing over you like crushed velvet slipping across bare skin.

You’d messed around a bit with partners here and there, a little bondage, some light spanking. One time you’d gone to a party with the ex who’d brought you to this club for the first time, and found that getting flogged in a room full of strangers wasn’t quite as mortifying as it had initially seemed.

You cleared your throat, found the will to speak from somewhere in the ether. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. What’s the proposition?”

“You’re almost pretty, you know?”

That rankled. “Jeez, what a compliment.” You said, without thought of consequences.

“Feisty, too. I like that.”

You clenched your fist and tried not to roll your eyes. “Sure.”

“Sleep with me, and I’ll introduce you to Mr. Lawrence. I should warn you. It will be uncomfortable, maybe even painful. But, we all pay a certain price for the things we want, don’t we?”

You considered the idea for a moment. You wanted to meet Lawrence, but the idea of sleeping with someone to facilitate that? No thanks. It wasn’t even that the idea of sleeping with Kreese was inherently unappealing; in any other time, place, or manner of proposition, you’d have given it a shot. His intensity was sure to mean he’d be dynamite in the sack, but to do so with the intent of meeting another man? Ugh, no.

“I’ll pass.”

“He’ll never notice you if you just stand there making eyes at him, you know?”

“I’m not _quite_ that desperate, but thanks for the offer.”

“Are you certain? When was the last time you were truly well-fucked?” His tone ignited something in you, impossibly arousing despite your logical objections. It had been too long.

You could imagine him pulling you in and pinning you face down on that desk, nailing you hard until you were screaming and clawing at the wood. You realised, with some slight disappointment in yourself, that he was going to have you, and you were going to let him. You’d probably enjoy it, too.

“You want me? I’m here, and I’m sure you could take me whether I wanted you to or not. Get on with it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Kreese smirked, but the threatening aura faltered just a little as he showed a tiny shred of amusement. “Take your shirt off.”

You stripped to the waist, leaving your chest bare.

Kreese hummed approvingly. “And the rest.”

You sighed, but acquiesced. Eventually, you stood naked in front of Kreese, your clothing a small pile on the office chair between you, your boots on the floor nearby. The floor of the office felt cold under your feet, the cool air of the room making goosebumps prickle at your skin.

“Get over here.” Kreese pulled you into a rough kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, teeth nipping at your lower lip when you broke for air. His hands kneaded your bare ass, and when he brought one down hard against your skin, you made a pained noise at the sting.

“If that hurts, you’re really not going to like what I do to you next.” He whispered in your ear.

Kreese spun you around in his arms, bringing his arm across your throat and pulling your back against his chest, the restriction on your airway sudden and terrifying. He dragged you around to the other side of the desk and when he freed you, you gulped in air greedily. He bent you over the desk, facing the door, not that you could see, as his hand was now in your hair and pinning your face tight against the wood.

He kicked your legs open, and with a growled instruction to stay exactly where you were, brought his hand away. You heard his belt unbuckling, the clink of metal then the slip of leather through the fabric loops. If this was going where you thought it was…

The crack of the belt, folded and brought down on the back of your thigh, made you cry out. The first few strokes weren’t too bad, but soon tears burned in your eyes, and you struggled to remember to _breathe_ , to still your own shaking before he did it again. You were braced for the impact of the next hit when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” Kreese said, and you scrambled to get up, cover yourself somehow, but his large hand splayed across your back and held you in place.

The door clicked open. “What do you want, Kreese? Pax said you needed me up here. Didn’t you get the message? I’m just here to get paid.” The person entering must have noticed you. “Oh, what the fuck.”

“Johnny, why don’t you join us?” Kreese asked, as casually as if we were just drinking scotch and chatting in here.

You craned your head to look at who the person at the door was. _Shit._ Lawrence, and he must have come straight from the ring, his hair was damp with sweat and there was a towel draped across his shoulder. _Lawrence must be his surname_ , you thought vaguely, somewhere at the back of your mind. Your primary concern right now was getting the fuck away from Kreese and getting out of here with what remained of your dignity intact. But you’d have to grab your clothes on the way out, but then you’d be completely exposed right in front of him. _Fuckfuckfuck._ You struggled and found yourself pinned even harder.

“You’re sick, man. I’m outta here.” Lawrence said, and started to turn away.

“You _do_ want to get paid, don’t you, Mr. Lawrence? Do this, and I’ll double it.”

The blond stopped at the door, the internal conflict he must be enduring evident in his posture. He turned around after a long moment, a stony expression on his face.

“There’s a good boy.” Kreese drawled.

“Whatever. What do you want me to do?”

“For now, you can keep those,” he moved your wrists until they were pressed down on the wood either side of your head. “there.”

You felt Lawrence pull the chair towards the desk and settle down in front of you, close enough that he could see your face properly, and it was hard to even think of looking elsewhere. He must not have been paying attention to you when he was the other side of the room, and you couldn’t blame him. There seemed to be something more to this situation with Kreese, something that really didn’t involve you, and here you were thrown right into the deep end of it.

“Oh.” He sounded shocked. “It’s you.”

It didn’t really seem like the time for small talk or introductions, or to ask why he recognised you, but you squeaked out a small “Hi.” all the same. You felt Kreese’s belt brush the back of your leg again and you tensed reflexively.

“Hey, look at me.” Lawrence murmured, inches from your face, as he took your wrists. “Just look at me. You’re okay. My name’s Johnny. You’re gonna be alright, this’ll be over soon.”

You nodded and smiled weakly. The belt came down with a crack that echoed around the room. You stifled your scream and closed your eyes tight as the searing pain gave way to a burning sensation. A reassuring thumb moved across your wrist, grounding you. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

The sweet, encouraging words spoken in his surprisingly melodic voice took the edge off the pain, twisted it in your gut until it was something unrecognisable. Johnny was even sexier up close, a concerned furrow in his brow at the sight of your pain. His hands were warm on your wrists and he was close enough that you could smell him, like cologne that had almost worn away and fresh sweat.

Another strike on your already sore thigh had you screaming aloud, and you jolted forward, nearly headbutting Johnny. His grip on your wrists loosened, and he caught your head against his chest, stroking your hair soothingly while you whimpered into his skin.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Johnny, still holding you tenderly, spat angrily in Kreese’s direction.

Kreese gave a dry laugh. “I think you’ve said something to that effect before, yes. Back on the desk, sweetheart.”

You felt his calloused hands on your hips, the desk dragging slightly against your front as he pulled you back into position. “Please,” you begged, “I can’t take any more. It hurts _so_ bad.”

“Three more. Count them out for me.”

The number seemed arbitrary, but the sooner this was over, the better. You tried to steady yourself, preparing for the next hit. “One.”

At least he was alternating between your thighs instead of striking the same spot repeatedly. It still hurt like hell after the first one, though, with the heat from each successive blow radiating through the whole area. You tried so hard not to let your pain show so much now you could see how much Johnny was bothered by Kreese hurting you.

“Two.” You whimpered, trying to disguise the pain than you were feeling, and failing miserably. _Ohfuckohfuckohfuck,_ you thought as the belt came down on the back of your leg again, and you were crying in earnest now, completely unable to hold back even as Johnny whispered sweet nothings in your ear and held your shaking hands where they rested on the desk.

“Three.” You said between heaving sobs, tears rolling down your cheeks. “ _Pleasegetitoverwith_.”

You could feel something trickle slowly down your thigh just as the belt connected with a wet thwack. You must have been bleeding, and _oh holy fuck_ that last hit stung. Johnny stroked your hair and whispered little words of praise at how well you’d done, reassuring you that it was over now. At least that part was.

You felt Kreese’s fingers intrude roughly into you, and you internally cursed your body’s instinctive response to Johnny’s sweetness when he pushed all the way inside, finger-fucking you from behind. Your sobs turned to gasps, and tears continued to fall as you felt reluctant pleasure spreading through your body.

“Oh, you’re wet, aren’t you?”

You felt shame curling through your body, ugly and raw as the welts no doubt blossoming on your skin.

“Do you want him to fuck you, now?” Kreese asked.

You couldn’t even deny it, you’d give anything to feel more of Johnny’s gentle touches soothing away these awful feelings. He had been so kind, and it was a blessing.

“You’re such a bastard.” Johnny snapped, pushing the chair back and standing. “I’m not going to, not like this.”

“Then you don’t get your money. It’s very simple. You do what I tell you, you get the money. You’re free to walk out that door if you don’t need it.” Kreese removed his hand and you had to hold back a disappointed whine at the empty feeling.

Johnny’s nostrils flared and his mouth set in a thin line. You could tell he was struggling to contain his rage at what he was being asked to do.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, trying to offer Johnny a fraction of the reassurance and support he’d just given you. “I can do this.”

Johnny looked down at you with such pity it was near heart-breaking. You didn’t deserve it, you weren’t the one being so obviously coerced into this; you’d stayed out of a desire to get laid, and after things had been rougher than you'd anticipated, to save face. Whatever was going on here between him and Kreese was so much worse than that, and you’d do whatever you could to make it easier on him. You steeled yourself and took a deep breath, pushing yourself up on your arms and shaking legs.

“I’m serious.” You said, more firmly this time. “I can do this.” Would it be weird to admit that you wanted him to do it?

Johnny nodded curtly, his expression impassive. His fingertips trailed lightly down your spine as he switched places with Kreese. Now Johnny was behind you and it was Kreese in the chair, observing your performance critically.

Johnny’s hand ghosted over your skin. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, and you wanted to reassure him that really, this part wasn’t so bad.

You heard the rustle of fabric being shoved down Johnny's legs and guessed from the movement the followed that he was trying to get himself hard despite his audience. You arched your back and presented yourself to him a bit more obviously, damp and inviting, and hoped the sight of your arousal might speed things along.

His breathing caught in his throat, and you couldn't help but enjoy the reaction just a little. The thick, hard tip of him pressed against you, dipping in barely an inch, and you could not fucking _believe_ that he was teasing right now, when he pulled out and repeated the motion. You pushed back against him when he did it the third time, seating him deeper. The friction of his thighs against the marks on yours made you wince and clench around him, and when he gasped, you knew you’d do almost anything to hear him make that noise again.

“Tell him what you want.” Kreese ordered.

You froze, your mind going blank. Johnny’s hands lightly stroked your back and hips, keeping you in the moment. You weren’t going to make this any harder on him, so you complied with Kreese’s command.

“Fuck me, please. I want you.” You begged, letting the genuine desire in your voice shine through.

Johnny started to move, still too slowly and not enough. You thrust back on him until he bottomed out inside you, the feeling of being so totally filled making it hard to breathe, much less think about your next move. Thankfully, your enthusiasm seemed to work for him, and he picked up the pace, fucking you until your legs felt like they’d go out from under you.

“Yes, fuck, that’s so good, right there.” You gasped when he hit home.

He groaned in response, fucking you harder, each rock of his hips sending a jolt of pleasure right through you until you were begging for _more, harder, faster_ , the desk shaking violently beneath you.

Johnny’s hand moved from your hip and reached down to stroke your clit in time with his thrusts, and that drove you over the edge, shaking and screaming and gripping onto the desk for dear life. He fucked you through your orgasm, drawing out every shuddering gasp, until his breathing faltered, his pace becoming erratic.  
  
"Come. _Inside_." Kreese said.

Johnny stilled as if he meant to protest, but you were still twitching around him and he was too far gone anyway, and _really_ pulling out wasn't even that effective, so you couldn't bring yourself to care when he came inside you with what you could only describe as a roar. You loved that he worked you both through the aftershocks for what seemed like forever.

You stayed together for a long moment after that, shaking and sweaty, breathing hard. It was almost easy to forget Kreese sitting there across from you, looking as apathetic as possible. You’d barely caught your breath before he told the two of you to get out. Your brain struggled to string the instruction into a coherent thought, much less action.

Johnny slipped out of you, stepped back and pulled his pants up. Kreese dumped your outfit unceremoniously on the desk in front of you. You dressed quickly, eager to get out of the room. _Okay_ , so it had been under slight duress, but it was possibly the best sex you’d had in a long time and the idea that these circumstances meant there might not be a repeat was extremely annoying.

You left the room, barely comprehending the words being exchanged between Johnny and Kreese, your mind a haze of postcoital white noise too loud to register anything else above it.

You were outside the club and waiting for a cab when you felt a hand fall on your shoulder, and you spun to face the person it belonged to with the intent of protecting yourself. A fraction of a second before swinging a fist in the direction of their face, you registered that it was Johnny, looking down at you with ocean-blue eyes full of concern. He was wearing a shirt now, at least.

“Hey.” you said, voice wavering a little.

“Hey. Listen,” he replied, and you noticed he sounded a little unsure of himself, which was almost funny since he’d been balls-deep in you without so much as knowing your name not ten minutes ago. “I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine.” It’s not like any of the other things that sprang to mind were going to sound good, so you left it at that. “How about you?”

“Yeah,” He laughed, or the ghost of one, anyway. He was nervous and it was strangely endearing. “I wanted to ask…”

You were on tenterhooks waiting to find out whatever he could possibly want from you after _that._

“I was hoping we could maybe, I don’t know, maybe this is weird. I was hoping I could buy you a drink some time. Least I can do.”

You laughed softly, pulling a business card from your purse. It has your name and contact numbers on, so if he really does want to get in touch, he’s got a headstart right there. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Give me a call some time.”

“I’ll do that.”

A cab pulled up and you climbed inside. You gave the driver your address, totally unable to keep the smile off your face when he asked how your night had been.

“Not so bad, in the end.” You answered.

**Author's Note:**

> And now you all know my secret shame. That's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
